


Thriller

by Demothi



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: B-Movies, Implied/Referenced OC Death, M/M, Mystical Creatures, Mysticism, Unnamed OC - Freeform, movie marathon, psychopomp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demothi/pseuds/Demothi
Summary: Prowl may be a logical mech, but when you can physically see your own soul, you don't question the chance that lost soul may wander on certain nights. Fortunately his love, Jazz is all too happy to help him forget the concern of the night, until something goes wrong.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Thriller

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Those Who Wander](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487457) by [Gemma_Inkyboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots), [raisedbymoogles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles). 



> Here is a Halloween fic for folks. I have been typing a lot of stories with Prowl and Jazz lately but haven't posted any yet... hopefully this will help motivate me.

Most mecha wouldn’t expect it of him, but Prowl was a remarkably superstitious mech. At least about some things. He didn’t believe that twins were a sign of tragedy to come, or that a black hypercat crossing your path was bad luck. Instead he believed some times of the vorn, or even certain times just in an orn, could bring about times when things that weren’t a part of the natural order could move around. 

It was impossible for any Cybertronian not to believe in a soul, not when one could expose their own and see it, even bind it with another’s for eternity, or so it was said. So the idea that souls sometimes did not reach the well, and were stuck in a place between wasn’t so odd to believe, even for such a logical mech. And as such it was hard to say that the rotation of cybertron, it’s moons, and its location along its orbit around their sun couldn’t influence how much or little those sparks could interact with the world of the enframed.

One such time was upon them. Once a vorn Cybertron as a whole celebrated the Feast of Mortalus, a dual purposed tradition that celebrated the harvest as the world prepared for the coming metacycles of dormancy in many of their staples, and the purported time when the distance unframed sparks were forced to keep from the realm of the enframed was the shortest. To add to that this vorn both the moons were going to be full, another auspicious time when it was claimed those who were infected by various viruses lost much of their control over their urges, from animalistic to cannibalistic. 

In light of all of that Prowl had asked his sweetspark of three vorn if they could spend the day, and more importantly the night, together. Jazz had enthusiastically agreed, and had promptly started planning, not once disparaging him for his superstitions. It was his easy acceptance and bright support that had quickly stolen Prowl’s spark when they had met during a shared history course in university. That Jazz was just as smitten hurt nothing, or helped nothing, depending on who you asked. Prowl’s parents, and adult family, did not really approve of Jazz, treating their relationship as some kind of young adult dalliance that Prowl would ‘wake up’ from, but his younger brothers loved the charming mech with Prowl. 

He’d already spent the daylight hours with his lover, the visored mech having set up a plethora of treats for them to share and nibble through, with a long list of movies to share. All were cheaply produced ‘horror’ films, the terror of seeing a monster turned to humor by the sight of lines or wires holding the parts up, and the overacting stealing any chance of selling the suspense of disbelief, even for Jazz. It was just getting to dusk, and their movie about an energon drinker had just ended, the entertaining mech having teased Prowl throughout by kissing and nipping at his neck during the second half. “I’ve gotta put ou’ th treats fer th kiddos or they’ll come knockin, an scare us.” He said, as the set up began to cue the next movie to play. 

“I don’t think anything could scare me at this point.” Prowl said, still suppressing the chuckles Jazz’s latest teasing had sparked in him. “But point... we don’t want to have to keep pausing the movies. I guess you had better get to that.” He said, teasing himself, as he settled in to keep watching, startled into a laughing fit as Jazz mimicked the overacting energon drinker of the last movie. His helm threw back, mouth open ridiculously wide, ostensibly to display ‘fangs’, as he got to his feet, hands raised up in front of him with fingers curled as ‘claws’ and with a noisy ‘hiss’ he ‘stalked’ off to tend to the bowl. 

When Prowl finally stopped laughing at his lover’s antics he settled in to watch the film. He reached for a small handful of puffed silicate, popping one into his mouth, just before he registered, with a small thrill up his back strut, what was on the screen. Unlike the prior films that had been laughably fake, there was no ‘monster’ on screen, as a femme cautiously moved through an office building, more realistic fear on her face than any actor yet today. She was venting shallow and fast, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for a door handle, optics clearly shifting from shadow to shadow, searching for something. Having missed the opening scene of this movie, he didn’t know what the source of fear was, but for the first time he found himself drawn into the movie, into the fear.

He watched as she moved from a hallway into an open cubicle area, a scattering of overhelm lights flickering dully, yet their presence seemed to relieve the tension that had been building... this was safe. He watched as she took sanctuary in the room, trying to get her venting back under control, a hand settling over her spark to urge it to slow it’s spinning, his own spark going out to her as he saw her start to tear up, such real fear. He saw it... something, undefinable, vague and brief, just barely silhouetted in the light, before the one it was in front of flickered then ended with little more than a soft ‘click’. There should have been nothing ominous about the sound, but unlike the prior films that would have had the lights burst as the shut off, the sound was so mundane it seemed eerie in the absence of anything else.

On screen the femme noticed as the second light flicked out, moving from the furthest corner toward her, the darkness that seemed pertenaturally deep, impenetrable, inspite of the remaining lights. She trembled, the seeming safety of her sanctuary stripped away, and she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks now, as she shook her helm, as if to deny what was happening. Something unintelligible whispered, as if across a distance, and he felt like fingers were crawling up his back, the pillow he’d been resting against having found its way into his arms to be held.

Flicker click, flicker click, lights shut out in a slow precession toward the femme and she grew more and more distraught, jerking to her feet to try and rush away from the tide of darkness following her, but loosing her footing, and collapsing with gasping sobs. She tried to crawl but even without the angle of the view, right on her face, it was easy to tell she was making no significant progress, the march of what had come to seem like a void continuing to make progress toward her. It was hard not to close his own optics as the femme did, the last lights around her flickering before turning off in that still ominous ‘click’. The screen went dark as the last light shut off, the femme’s terrified cry unmuffled, and Prowl knew his spark and pump were both working overtime as he held the pillow tight to his chest.

Light returned slowly, raising by single lumens it felt like. But it wasn’t really a scene change, the same office floor was there, and the femme, trembling and crying, her face in her hands. A hand reached out, placing its owner as the viewer, or just behind the viewer. The hand was not some hideous thing, seeming no different than any stock hand, same with the arm that followed, as the hand touched the femme’s helm.

“It’s alright now.” The voice was shocking in being the first spoken thing, rather than any tone of the voice being terrifying in itself. In fact the voice was gentle, almost soft, as was the touch the mech speaking was giving. He pet the femme’s helm softly, carressing it in a tender manner as he spoke. “It’s alright now, everything will be okay. You don’t have to be lost any more.” There was something achingly familiar about the voice, even as Prowl found himself trembling along with the femme. 

She slowly pulled her hands from her face and looked up, optics flickering as distress still screamed along every line of her frame. With her look, Prowl was able to see the figure, just as achingly familiar as the voice, even if he didn’t know where. Amber optics looked down from the mech done in matte black, soft pewter and just the lightest touches of gold. He had helm horns, and a large vertical vent, and his frame seemed like it could belong to just about any class, any career path at the same time. “I’m here to take you home.” He said, urging the femme to her feet, and smiling softly as he pulled her to his chest. He held her close as she sobbed for a moment, her fear needing a release now that the terror was gone. 

The moment passed and he stepped back, offering a hand to her, and she took it, nodding mutely. As the mech started to lead her, the room seemed to have dissolved away, leaving the pair walking on a floor with no walls or objects in the radiation of light around them. Then Prowl saw the femme’s back for the first time, and the sight of it blasted out, as if someone had shot her with a shotgun at short range, lodged his spark in his throat. The film was fading out but the idea that he’d just watched what seemed to amount to a psychopomp finding a lost spark to lead back to the well hit him hard, tears welling in his optics.

It was hard to say how long he watched the now dark screen, no next film following as they had before, it was hard to say how long he’d sat alone, watching the film and after combined. It hadn’t even occurred to Prowl that Jazz hadn’t returned just yet... not until he felt a touch on his shoulder, and a voice that sent a thrill of fear up his spine spoke right behind him. “Prowler-”

Whatever else Jazz was going to say was silenced by the scream that Prowl let out, the Praxian jumping to his feet and flinging the throw pillow he’d been gripping like a lifeline at the mech. Then it clicked in his processor that this was Jazz... his lover, and he trembled, sinking down onto the couch with a shaky vent. “Jazz...”

“Babe? What’s wrong?” Jazz asked, moving around the couch to pull Prowl into his arms, holding him close. “Why isn’t there a movie playing?” He asked, even as he held Prowl to his chest, such a familiar position for the mech.

Prowl shook his helm a bit, trying to find his words, how to even explain it. “I-it stopped after the last I... I don’t...” He was still shaking, fear, even after the bittersweet end, gripping his spark tight. “Was scary...” He found himself saying, not a lie, and even though he normally wasn’t overly scared of things, this had shaken him deep... it had felt so real.

“Scary? None of them should have been. I picked all corny films.” Jazz said with a frown, but rather than focus on that, he pulled Prowl even closer, leaning them both so that the doorwinged mech ended up laying on top of them, cuddled close. “It’s alright now...” Prowl jerked at the words, the cadence and timing seemed so very like the film. “Shhh, shhhh, everythin's 'kay.” Jazz said, helping him settle back in as the reality that he was in Jazz’s arms sank back in. He couldn’t explain it but he found himself crying against the mech’s frame. The movies stopped and some soft, bright music came on, all at a remote command from Jazz, as the other focused on soothing Prowl.

Prowl had been asleep for a few joor, having finally drifted off without tears or signs of a nightmare, and Jazz could finally investigate what had happened. After the film about the energon drinker, he’d gone to set out the candy, and that seemed to be when things had gone wrong. He cued up an internal feed of the next movie, only to find that something had overwritten the list, and next was...

The file he found was one of his own memory files, marked as the span of time he’d been out of the room from Prowl. He’d gone to set the candy out, and felt the pull of a lost spark, nearby enough that he could help, and he had slipped off to take care of it, intending to just offer Prowl some apology. The femme spark had given him a bit of a chase, the nature of her offlining having made her scared of everything. He’d finally managed to get close to her and revealed a comforting form for her. It seemed that somehow, while he’d been out, his hunt for the lost spark had imposed itself into the movie playlist. With Prowl already one to believe in the possibility, it wasn’t too shocking he’d been thrown by it, especially as the memory connected more than just visuals, even over the screen display Prowl had watched. He’d felt the femme’s terror.

He would have to claim it was just some kind of an indie attempt that he hadn’t realized would be scary, or something. His poor love, Jazz looked down Prowl’s frame and stroked over his helm and down between his doors. Prowl had reacted to his accidental repeat of what he’d during the hunt, but hopefully he’d forget this, and they could just go back to normal, or at least as normal as Jazz got to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially inspired by 'Thriller' by Michael Jackson (a long standing Halloween song), and I immediately cast Jazz as the one with a sense of being 'other', but I couldn't see Prowl running scared to fill the other half of the story. Then I remembered an amazing fic, credited as inspiration here, titled Those Who Wander by Gemma_Inkyboots and raisedbymoogles (worth a read, good soft spooky vibe for Halloween), where they have a character as a psychopomp, and I decided to hi-jack the idea, and slap it in with my previous one. This was the result. I may or may not tinker with the world started up here in another fic, we will see.


End file.
